


Sycamore Smile

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Dean is not Castiel's student), Alternate Universe, Barista Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Coffee Shops, College/University, Coming Out, Dean/Cas Tropefest 2019, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Flustered Dean, Gay Castiel, Illustrated, Interior Decorating, KonMari | Marie Kondo's Tidying Method, M/M, Miscommunication, Moving In Together, Professor Castiel, Rabbits, Romance, Schmoop, Sharing a Bed, Student Dean Winchester, Summer, Trees, deancastropefest, this is not specifically a coffee shop AU... they go outside a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Professor Castiel is a hot mess. Second hottest mess on campus? Dean Winchester – who comes complete with a black floppy-eared rabbit named Zeppelin, and a job at the university's coffee shop franchise. They both need to get their shit together. And nobody's gonna help them do that better than each other.(A feel-good AU in which Cas bunnysits for Dean, and Dean helps Cas KonMari his life – all the while falling in love and accidentally moving in together.)





	Sycamore Smile

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot even begin to explain how much I adore this fic. It might even be my favourite of [the 104 Destiel fics I’ve posted so far](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works) (as of May 2019). If you want some joy, sunshine, and untainted goodness in your life, read on. This fic contains abundant love, and it will provide infinite amounts to anyone who wants it.
> 
> My biggest thanks have to go to my sister [Amara](http://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/), who lay outside on an air mattress with me, way past her bedtime, just to help me figure out what to write in this fic. Without her, this would’ve been 6k long and nothing like the pure, unadulterated ray of sunshine that it is now. (She also beta’d it on her phone at 1am while sitting in the hospital waiting room with me while I waited to be seen. Did I mention my sister is one of the two best humans to exist in my life, ever? The other is my mother.)  
> Extra special thanks are vigorously awarded to [Katie](http://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/), [Joanjun](https://roisu10.tumblr.com/), and [Al](https://wheniwrite28.tumblr.com/) for betaing this for me!!  
> More thanks to Marie Kondo, whose book _The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up_ actually did change my life.  
> And of course, copious thanks also go to the lovely [Imp](http://impmakesart.tumblr.com/), who went and made the EXACT kind of art this fic needed. Suffice to say, not only am I over the moon about the art, but also orbiting around said moon at a speed of 500 mph. Readers, [**please check out the art post**](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/post/184742110280/sycamore-smile). It will improve your day by a significant percentile.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Past Dean/other men (no names given). No past relationships for Cas are mentioned, but he’s openly gay. Besides that, there’s just a couple of mild swears. And one dirty joke...?

   


  
 

The first time Dean met Castiel, it was like something out of a movie. Specifically, the sweet, sappy movies that Dean liked best but would never watch if anyone else was around.

He’d never smelled juniper in his life. He didn’t know what juniper _was_ , or what it was meant to smell like. But one minute he was sitting comfortably in the dappled shade of the campus’ least-popular sycamore trees, one hand petting Zeppelin (Holland Lop-Eared rabbit, black), the other holding a textbook ( _Radioactive Isotopes and Their Common Applications_ , $456, banana yellow), when all of a sudden, he smelled juniper, and was able to identify it as juniper.

He looked up.

There was a path through the lawn about thirty feet from the soles of Dean’s boots, cutting right to left, with a backdrop of green-leafed trees gushing in the wind, snug against the campus church and its white steeple, which was directly between the humanities block and the mathematics tower. Usually people hurried along, right to left, left to right, or lounged on the grass surrounded by books, basking in the sun like studious cats.

But one dude in a trenchcoat paused on the path.

Sunlight blazed around him, illuminating dark hair with a golden halo as he turned his head, looking back the way he’d come. Soft springtime wind caressed his trenchcoat and lifted its hem, as if wanting to take a peek underneath. He squinted against the light, or in confusion, one tanned hand curling around his other bare wrist. His navy-blue necktie floated out in front of him, twisting, dancing in sync with his mussed hair.

He was beautiful.

 _Beautiful_ , not only in the way underwear models were beautiful, or movie actors were beautiful. _Beautiful_ , the way books were beautiful when they had gilded artwork hot-stamped on their covers. _Beautiful_ , the way sunlight caught the scales on a koi fish as it slowly curved under a lilypad. _Beautiful_ , like a low, dulcet crack of thunder at dusk, followed by a rainshower that drenched the land just the right amount after a month-long heatwave.

Dean watched this man move in slow-motion as the rest of the world went hurrying.

He smelled of juniper.

Any other moment in time, Dean would never have looked up. Yet the breeze had brought him a reason to look up. Being in the right place, at the right time, to smell that scent and see this image was as incredible as looking up _just_ in time to see a shooting star.

Dean smiled, and lowered his head to get back to studying. But his eyes were imprinted with what he’d seen; the diagram of a split atom looked like a camel-coloured trenchcoat. The text in the caption looked like the path, left to right, right to left.

Dean looked up again – and shock zapped down his spine: the man approached him. He walked with purpose, hands swung at his sides, marching in long strides.

Dean wondered if he should run. Nobody approached like that unless they wanted a fight.

“Pardon me,” the man said—

And, okay, nobody said ‘pardon me’ any more. Like, ever. They just didn’t. They said ‘hi’ or ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’, or all three. This guy was from another time, a suspicion further confirmed by the button-up waistcoat he wore. It was ninety-five degrees out here, Dean could only imagine there was sweat running down this man’s lower back.

“So sorry to disturb you,” the man went on, deep-voiced and rumbly. “But could you tell me the time?” He rubbed his right hand around his left wrist, as he’d done before. “I seem to have misplaced my wristwatch.”

Dean scrunched his hand in Zeppelin’s fur, feeling his own palm sweat clinging to her fluff. “Uhhhh.”

The man had eyes. Blue eyes. _Very_ blue eyes.

Dean blinked five times and lowered his head, letting go of his rabbit and dropping his $456 textbook on the ground between his bowed legs. “Uh. Time. Right.” He rotated his own watch around his sweaty wrist. “Three-fifty-blue.”

“Three-fifty... two?”

Dean looked up. “What?”

“Three-fifty-two,” the man breathed out, wide-eyed, panicked. “Shit!” He fled, and was gone in a heady waft of juniper that Dean breathed in, staring as the long-legged figure hurtled across the grass towards the humanities department. His coat tails flapped behind him, arms moving with his elbows risen at his sides.

Dean guessed he had a class to get to.

And that was it. That was the first time Dean met Castiel.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

The first time Castiel met Dean, he had the distinct feeling he’d met him before. Perhaps in another time, in another life. He knew his face, his wide shoulders, his stunning green eyes, as well as his voice, yet he had no memory of meeting him.

Castiel left the auditorium after his final class on Thursday afternoon, head bowed as he sorted through a full ream of stapled paper: everything he needed to grade in the following week. He leafed through the projects on top, then turned to slip it all collectively into his leather satchel. He paused to rest the satchel on his thigh, supporting it as he squashed everything in beside his reusable coffee cup and gym clothes.

Lifting his satchel again, he shouldered open the glass door and squinted against the sunlight, trotting down the stone steps to reach the pathway.

Deep breaths filled him, both with air and with optimism, and he began to stroll rather than strut. He didn’t have anywhere to be, not really. He’d rather walk slowly and take an extra five minutes to enjoy the sunshine than rush to the gym and stare at a speed monitor.

He continued to scour the path for his wristwatch, sure he’d lost it somewhere around here. Even after a month, he checked the lost-and-found daily, and retraced his steps countless times, but still found nothing.

Near to the path up ahead, he spotted something black, and hurried a few steps closer, only to realise the black item was further away than he thought... and also appeared to be moving.

It bobbed onto the path, examined it, found it not to its liking, and bobbed back to the grass.

Castiel approached, and the black thing shot away, then stopped to sniff a daisy.

Curious, Castiel left the path and followed it.

He had no idea the campus had rabbits now. He’d once been surprised to meet a peacock in the university’s botanic gardens, only to be informed they’d had peacocks since 1876, he’d just never brought guava fruit for lunch before. (Apparently the campus peacocks enjoyed guava. Castiel had already discovered this, having watched his guava eaten in front of him by a very confident bird.)

The rabbit hobbled across the lawn, floppy ears softly disturbing the grass.

“Hello?” Castiel said, when he was sure the rabbit was in earshot. “Do you live here?”

The rabbit looked at him, still busy nibbling.

Castiel crouched a little and reached out a hand. “Can I pet you?”

The rabbit wriggled its nose. Castiel was close enough to see it was cross-eyed. It flinched as he came closer, and then bounced away, back end leaping. It stopped abruptly, once again distracted by daisies.

Castiel had fun following it for five minutes, catching up, then watching it run away. It didn’t seem panicked, or afraid; it was simply wary, as prey animals ought to be. Eventually Castiel sat down on the grass, just to relieve his tired shoulder of his weighty satchel.

The rabbit quickly reassessed, and came right up to Castiel.

“Oh!” Castiel exclaimed, delighted when the rabbit sniffed his hand. “You _are_ friendly, aren’t you? Do you want something to eat? I have leftover salad.”

The rabbit didn’t understand, but bypassed his hand and crawled into his lap, paws scrabbling on his thigh. Castiel sat, marvelling, hands up, afraid to move in case he scared the creature.

The rabbit put a fluffy paw on Castiel’s chest, standing on his crotch to stretch up, looking at his face. Sniffy little black nose.

“Are... Are you someone’s pet?” Castiel asked, cautiously lowering his hand to touch the rabbit’s back. It let him stroke it, and he melted inside, awed by how _soft_ it was. Besides the firm feel of a warm animal body under his hand, it felt like he was touching nothing at all.

“Do you have a name?”

The rabbit said nothing.

“I’m Castiel,” Castiel said.

He pondered, then scooped the rabbit to his chest with determination – he knew how to handle cats, rabbits were probably similar – and stood up, bag on one shoulder, his other arm squishing the rabbit to him so it couldn’t squirm away. He got up and began to walk, wondering where to take his new find.

Lost-and-found? Did they accept rabbits?

The main office?

Castiel’s own office?

 _Home_?

He opened the glass doors for the humanities block with one hand, getting out of the direct sun, but remaining in daylight, which filtered silver through the frosted-panel ceiling. He’d decided to head towards the lost-and-found, assuming someone there would be able to type up an emergency email bulletin to staff and students.

He was only a few steps inside when he heard a stampede of approaching bootsteps and a loudening of panted breath. He turned, and realised the stampede was just one man, hitting the glass door with a raised hand.

Castiel recognised him. He’d never seen him in class, that much was certain. But surely he’d met this man before. Somehow he _knew_ him. But he didn’t know his name, or anything about him.

“Ah— Ih—” The man was sweaty, a V of darkness spreading from his henley collar downward, and he was tall – exactly as tall as Castiel, in fact – and he was about forty years old, but as freckle-faced and bright-eyed as a child. He folded forward, hands on his muddy knees, gasping for breath. He raised a hand, one finger up.

“Apologies,” Castiel said, before remembering he was trying not to apologise so much. “I. I don’t mean to be rude, I’m sure whatever you have to say is very important, but I have a lost rabbit here, and I really ought to find its owner, so if you wouldn’t mind terribly, I do have to go—”

“Ih!” the man cried, straightening up, still panting. He waved a hand at his own chest. “Me— Mih...” He narrowed his lips and exhaled, wiping sweat from his face with his inner elbow. “Mine. My – my rabbit.”

“Oh, I say.”

The man started to laugh, folding forward again. He laughed in relief and amusement and exhaustion, and Castiel found it was catching.

He’d never liked comedy shows with canned laughter, nor those filmed in front of a live audience. He was somewhat partial to visiting the theatre, as he could make up his own mind on whether to laugh. But he always found recorded laughter to be manipulative, like the creators were making too much of an effort to guide an audience into being amused at what they’d made. People laughed in groups; it was natural. People laughed along when others laughed, even if what they were laughing at was never something they’d laugh at alone. Castiel didn’t like being made to laugh unless he wanted to laugh.

So when this man, the owner of the rabbit, started to laugh, and Castiel allowed himself to laugh, he _let_ himself laugh. He chuckled, and guffawed, and slipped off his bag onto the floor, and rested his back against a nearby wall, head tipped back as he laughed towards the sun-bright roof.

He shut his eyes and kept chuckling, laugh fading only when the man caught his breath, and gently pried away the rabbit. It was content in his arms, shutting its eyes and resting its chin down on his inner elbow.

“Thanks,” the man said, raising the rabbit to his face to kiss its back. “Missed this lil troublemaker somethin’ awful.”

“How did he – she? – escape? And from where?” Castiel asked, leaving the cool support of the wall, reaching to stroke the rabbit again.

“Ahh, she got caught in her leash – I unclipped her for a second to untangle her back legs and she took off. Guess she’s been wantin’ to check out the other side of those sycamores for a couple semesters now. Ey?” He lifted his rabbit in both hands, raising her to eye-height, back legs dangling. “You could’a told me, baby. Instead you gotta have me running about like a wound-up maniac.”

The man lowered his rabbit and tucked her over his arm, where she hung like a happy towel.

“What’s her name?” Castiel asked, tugging one of those impossibly soft ears.

“Zeppelin.”

“Like a blimp?”

“Like the _band_ ,” the man complained, apparently pained. “Led Zeppelin?”

“Oh... Oh, of course, yes,” Castiel said, making a mental note to look the band up later. “I’m a... fan of their... earlyyy work?”

The man snorted. “You don’t gotta impress me, dude. You found my rabbit and didn’t hurt her, you’re basically my friend for life. Lacking musical knowledge aside.”

Castiel smiled. “Oh. Thank you.”

Again, he tried to place the face, the voice, the mannerisms, and came up with nothing. But there was familiarity. They’d had a conversation before but Castiel didn’t remember. Was this fate? Memories from a past life resurfacing? How many times had they met? How many times had this green-eyed stranger offered his friendship?

“So, what do I put on the thank-you card?” the man asked, lifting his rabbit onto his shoulder, where she hung, fluffy butt facing Castiel. “What’s your name?”

Castiel stared at the butt for a while, then answered, “Uh? Um. Castiel.”

“I mean your first name.”

“ _Castiel_ ,” Castiel repeated, looking the man in the eye. “That is my first name. Middle name Jimmy. Last name Novak.”

“But... you’re white. And, like, forty-something.”

Castiel squinted.

“Just saying, okay,” the man hastened to say, waving a nervous hand. “What white forty-something guy has a first name that isn’t Steve?”

“Are you Steve?”

“No, I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“My name is Castiel,” Castiel said clearly, in case Dean decided to disagree again. “And I’m forty-three, actually. Would you like to see ID?”

Dean looked ready to laugh aloud, but then Castiel pulled out his ID, and Dean only grinned.

Castiel held up his staff card so Dean could see.

Dean took it from him, examining it. “Good photo,” he smiled. His smile widened. “Wait, you’re a Professor?”

“Of Religious Studies, yes,” Castiel said, taking his card back from Dean’s limpening hand.

“Awesome,” Dean said, as Zeppelin climbed onto his head. “I work here too, actually. On campus.”

“Oh!” Castiel smiled, flooded with excitement. He was more and more sure now: their fates were converging. He knew Dean from a past life, and here he was again: in the right place, at the right time, and they were destined to become best friends. “Are you a Professor too?”

“Pff!” Dean seemed amused. “Yeah. Totally. Professor of Coffee.”

“I didn’t know we had that department,” Castiel said, intrigued.

Dean laughed, head back, then gasped and squashed his rabbit against the back of his head with a hand before she fell, shocked he’d forgotten her. He bowed all the way forward, letting Zeppelin crawl onto his back. Castiel plucked the rabbit off him, and Dean straightened, looking terribly ashamed.

“Honestly,” Castiel said despairingly, handing over the fluffball. “Losing her, dropping her— Please, take better care of your _pet_ , Dean.”

“Sorry, baby,” Dean whispered, kissing his rabbit’s cheek. “But this is _why_ we talked about this, okay. No sitting on my head. I forget you’re there.”

Castiel smiled gently, enraptured by the way Dean spoke to her the same way Castiel spoke to her: like a person. A small, innocent person, but a person nonetheless.

Zeppelin seemed not to have noticed any of this. She yawned, and shut her eyes.

“Aawwww,” Dean crooned, starry-eyed as he shared the moment with Castiel. “Ain’t she a little angel.”

Castiel smiled from the inside out. “Quite.”

Dean drew a slow breath, still beaming. “So, uh.” He cleared his throat. “Professor. I gotta—” He thumbed over his shoulder at the glass doors. “Y’know. Put the bunny to bed, go home n’ stuff. See you around?”

“Undoubtedly,” Castiel said. “Friends for life, I believe you said.”

Dean grinned. “Hell yeah.” He winked, and backed away.

He waved as he opened the door, and his scent rushed in on the breeze. Castiel breathed it once Dean was gone.

Juniper berry. A very familiar juniper, in fact. It was the same cologne Castiel used.

Now Castiel was sure. They were meant to be friends. They were meant to be _together_. All at once, Castiel envisioned himself hunting down that Department of Coffee, sitting in on Dean’s lectures, then lingering after class and speaking at length with him about the history of coffee imports and the diversity of the beans worldwide and how their production interacted with religious practices in those same places. Maybe they could talk about whether those novelty mugs declaring ‘Coffee Is My Religion’ had any truth to them in the consumerist cultures of modern America.

Castiel smiled, retrieving his satchel from the floor, daydreaming as he lifted it onto his shoulder. Maybe he and Dean would fall in love, slowly, over a hundred cups of coffee. And they would kiss, and two godless men would find faith, finally, after parallel lifetimes searching.

Castiel went home, lost in fantasy and smiles. He walked under the shade of the sycamores, breathing their green-dirt scent and letting the helicoptering samaras fall upon his shoulders, toppling underfoot as he passed.

He forgot to go to the gym.

But once home, he brewed himself some coffee, put on some Zed Leppelin, and forgave himself with cake.

   


   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

The coffee shop franchise on campus was ever-so-hilariously known as Hippocampus. They had a whole hippopotamus-in-glasses vibe going on. Jungle murals on the walls, and a fat, nerdy cartoon hippo lounging on the menu board. Stripy green snake plants lived on the tables instead of flowers, and they grew upward in clumps of pointed shoots.

Castiel loved his coffee, but every damn ‘budgeting hack’ he’d ever come across had made a point of saying how expensive coffee added up to be, when purchased daily. He relied on coffee to function, but having foam on the top admittedly seemed extraneous, given he put a lid on it anyway. So he’d begun making coffee at home. Thus, he hadn’t visited Hippocampus since a time long ago, when there was only one wheeled stall, and the hippo was unnervingly skinny.

In the last month, he’d had to rearrange his budget twice.

Why? Because of Dean.

By now, Castiel had purchased coffee from every separate Hippocampus on the university lot, returning at multiple times of the day, on nearly every day of the week. He’d even come in on four consecutive Sundays just to loiter in each shop in case _that_ was when Dean would give his class a practical demonstration.

Admittedly, it would’ve been a lot cheaper, faster, and less stalkery to look Dean up in the staff directory, but Castiel only thought of this now, with his bank account several hundred dollars emptier.

He also knew he didn’t need to _buy_ the coffee, only look around. But he did anyway. (For research.)

He had yet to find where the Professor of Coffee gave his lectures, however. He’d asked around and nobody had heard of that department, so he had to conclude it was one of those classes so lightly-attended that they didn’t bother putting it on the college syllabus, or giving the Professor an office or a designated lecture hall. That made Castiel’s hunt harder, but more fun. More coffee was always more fun.

Today, he stopped in at his favourite Hippocampus, the one with black-framed glass doors, black wood pillars holding up the roof beams, and industrial inspired decor theme that merged surprisingly well with the jungle thing.

He was just in the middle of mentally calculating if he’d have enough for _fancy_ toothpaste if he bought coffee now, when he saw Dean behind the counter, and cried “Ah!” out loud.

The hubbub in the shop dimmed to stunned silence, but after a heartbeat, forks tapped on plates, the bean grinder started up again, and Castiel’s blush was lost to the humid heat of the place. Dean had noticed him, though, and grinned from behind the cash register.

There were two people in line before Castiel, so he waited his turn.

He looked around, wondering where Dean’s students were. He wasn’t surprised he gave classes _here_ – where else would be more appropriate? – but all the students in attendance seemed lost in their own work, not paying attention to Dean’s coffee-making demonstration in the least. Castiel thought that was rather rude.

At last, he reached the counter, and Dean grinned at him. “Hey, there, Professor. What’ll it be?”

“Uh... Ah?” Castiel said, suddenly feeling unprepared. He’d fantasised about a lecture hall setting, and Dean asking for students’ questions after his presentation, and Castiel standing up and making his presence known, thus making Dean blush, before answering Castiel’s coffee-related question in metaphor for their budding intimate relationship. The word ‘steamy’ was in there somewhere. But Castiel had not been prepared for a question like ‘what’ll it be?’

“What... will what be?” Castiel asked.

“What?

“What?” Castiel asked back. Dean had a black towel over his shoulder, and no rabbit. “What-what?”

Dean gaped slightly, perplexed, although his eyes crinkled at the sides. “Your order, man. What kinda coffee d’ya want?” He thumbed at the board above him, where the bespectacled hippo sat and sipped a milkshake. “Can do you a frappe, the ice’ll cool you down in that circus tent you’re wearing.”

“Tent.” Castiel looked down at himself, then back at Dean, squinting. “I don’t understand. Dean, what are you doing here?”

“Dude,” Dean said. “Do you know how this works? Youuu order coffee, IIII make you coffee. You give me money, you caffeinate up, I pay for college and carrots. Win-win.”

Castiel’s heart fretted for a moment, unsure if Dean was joking. But when the joke went on for a moment too long, Castiel’s heart realised he’d been sorely mistaken for an embarrassing amount of time, and thus plummeted to his feet.

“You work here,” Castiel said.

“Nah, I just love playing dress-up,” Dean chuckled, spreading his hands. “Yeah, bud, I work here. Tuesdays and Saturdays, five ‘til ten. I’m also a part-time manager for the second half of the week.”

“Oh.” Castiel stared.

Dean slowly parted his plump lips with his tongue. “You gonna order, or what? You’re kinda holding up the line.”

Castiel sensed people behind him. He didn’t turn to look, so stunned by this revelation. Dean wasn’t a Professor. That had been a joke, and Castiel had misunderstood. Dean just made coffee. He was a _student_.

“Ah... Oh, no,” Castiel began to shake his head. “No, I— I’ve just made a miscalculation, it’s okay,” he smiled, tense. “I’ll go. So sorry—” He glanced at the person waiting behind him as he stepped out of line. “Thank you for waiting. Sorry. Sorry.” He looked back at Dean, who listened to his next customer’s order, but kept his eyes on Castiel as he retreated.

Dean’s figure grew smaller, his voice only a mutter when Castiel left.

Castiel turned his back on the coffee shop and fled to the open grass in the heart of the campus, past the church with its tolling bell, past the young students gathered on the steps of the mathematics tower.

It wasn’t unusual to be forty years old and studying. It was quite normal, in fact. Castiel was sure he harboured plenty of unwitting prejudices, but he wasn’t prejudiced enough to think college was only for young people. He’d made good friends with a lady in her eighties who’d come back to study once all her family had grown up and moved on, and she was in the mental prime of her life. Thirst for knowledge and society was a thirst that many people aimed to quench for their whole lives, and Castiel was one such person.

But he’d misunderstood Dean’s joke completely. No wonder Dean laughed when Castiel said he’d never heard of the Department of Coffee; he’d assumed Castiel was riffing on the same joke, straight-faced.

Not only was Castiel deeply embarrassed, but maybe a tad heartbroken. Just a tad.

It didn’t matter Dean wasn’t a Professor, not really. But Castiel had thought Dean was at least in the same stage of life as him. No matter what happened in their lives before, or in what order, their timelines should’ve converged neatly. They would both be working at good, steady jobs with some community sway, with a decent income that would combine into a tidy sum. They should’ve been able to move on in their combined lives, working together for common goals.

But Dean was still studying, and supplementing his income with a low-level job. Castiel had a well-established career and had tenure already. Of course, it could work, anything could work. But Castiel wasn’t inclined to take on the responsibility that came with a friend or partner who needed constant help, or who he outranked too highly in society.

Of course, he was getting ahead of himself. He barely knew Dean, besides _feeling_ like he knew him. He’d daydreamed about him more than he’d interacted with him in real life. He was probably making assumptions.

However, he’d seen enough to make those assumptions, had he not? Dean worked at a coffee shop to pay for college. He was a student. That was all Castiel needed to know.

With regret, Castiel set Dean out of his mind.

No more coffee from the shop. No more daydreaming. No more Dean.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

People didn’t like sitting under the sycamore trees because they dropped _bits_ , and their seed pods whirled around and hit passers-by in the face, or landed on open books, and made everything sticky.

They weren’t American sycamores, they were _Acer pseudoplatanus_ , better known as sycamore maples. Castiel thought they were very handsome trees, and excellent for shade, so long as one had something to sit on, or didn’t mind getting a dusty behind.

Castiel took this week’s stack of grading and went to sit on his balled-up coat, legs stretched out in front of him. He’d seen people sit here like this. They didn’t tend to stay long (because of the _bits_ ), but Castiel preferred the open air to the coffee shop or the library as of late.

He soon loosened his tie... then rolled up his shirt sleeves... and then unbuttoned his waistcoat.

He considered undoing his belt, but then supposed that might be going too far. If he wanted to take his pants off he should just go home, he told himself.

Oh... but it was so _nice_ here...

Perhaps the paper-grading could wait. He sat with his back against the rough tree trunk, smiling softly, admiring the blue sky and the faint chirps of students and sparrows enjoying their afternoon.

He felt a tickle on his thigh, and looked down, ready to flick away a bug, but startled violently in place when it was a very big, very black not-bug.

“Zeppelin?” Castiel uttered, placing a hand on the bunny’s back. “My-my, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Zeppelin sniffed his thigh, then hopped up onto it. Castiel grinned, stroking her. “Where’ve you left Dean this time, hmm?” He looked around, but saw nobody. “He’ll come looking for you. I can look after you until then.”

He closed his eyes, rested his head back on the tree, and began to hum quietly. Zeppelin suddenly _bounced_ up and zoomed around in a happy circle on the dirt, then returned to Castiel’s lap, making him wince at the scratch of claws.

Castiel huffed, and began to hum again. Zeppelin _leapt_ a foot in the air, zig-zagged, ran around the tree – Castiel twisted to follow her, only to have her reappear on his other side. He laughed, finding the rabbit back on his lap.

He hummed one note – then stopped.

He realised he was humming Led Zeppelin’s _Stairway to Heaven_. Well, no _wonder_ Zeppelin was getting all excited. Dean must play that music all the time, and she had to recognise it. Maybe Dean hummed to her too.

Faintly, Castiel heard a grunting and a scuffling, then the _snup_ of a book closing.

“Hello?” he called, trying to see around the tree. “Is someone there?”

“What?” came a semi-distant mutter. “Where are you?”

“Here?” Castiel told the trees.

A tender breeze picked up a hiss and a skuttle of plant droppings, rearranging the dry ground as footsteps approached. Castiel smelled juniper – the scent was ever so subtly different to how it dried down on his own skin. He looked up, and there was Dean, having found his rabbit.

“ _Ahh_ ,” Dean sighed, getting down to the ground and sitting beside Castiel, sharing his tree trunk. “Saw Zepp binkying around all over the place and knew she’d found something fun.” He reached to scritch his rabbit’s ears, as she remained on Castiel’s lap. “Who would’ve guessed it was you?”

Castiel smiled, helpless to resist Dean’s careless charm.

“We wear the same cologne,” Castiel said, eyes lowered to Dean’s chest. He looked better without a sweat stain, or the Hippocampus apron covering his muscular chest. “Juniper Gin? It smells exquisite on you.”

Dean seemed caught off-guard by that. “Uh—” His lower lip bobbed, then he grinned, shrugging a tense shoulder. “Thanks. What can I say,” he murmured. “Got it on good recommendation.”

Castiel smiled, handing Dean his rabbit. Zeppelin snuggled on his thighs, then flopped over, completely at home there. Castiel observed how Dean’s legs were bowed outward at the knees, and he thought it was rather odd, yet fetching.

“Look, I gotta ask,” Dean said, looking at the textbook he’d brought in hand, then setting it aside in the dirt. “How come you took off, last time I saw you? I wouldn’t pry, but it just seemed like... I dunno. Like I spooked you. Said something that got your back up. And whatever it was, it’s kind of bothering me.”

Castiel examined the green tadpole-shaped seed pods that the sycamore deposited on his leg. He took a breath to answer, but Dean spoke first.

“It’s just,” Dean said, a flit of annoyance in his voice, “it kind of seemed like you were upset by that fact I _worked_ at the coffee shop. God knows what else I’d be doing there. But.” He wet his lips forcefully, looking everywhere but into Castiel’s eyes. “Hate for that to be some kind offence, you know? A guy’s gotta pay for rabbit food somehow. I ain’t feeding my baby dry kibble, a’right. She gets the good stuff. _Real_ food.”

“That’s not it, Dean.”

“Then what? ‘Cause the issue sure as hell ain’t the coffee, and I know that, because I asked around and turns out you’d been skulking in every Hippocampus in walking distance, at random hours of the day and night, for just over a month. You tried everything on the menu, _twice_. But then you see me in there and you bolt. Why? What’s your problem, Professor? Is it me? God knows why I care, anyway.” He looked far away after that last remark, then sighed, shoulders sinking. “I dunno. Crazy as it sounds, I kinda thought maybe we _were_ friends. Or at least getting there. And then you tap out and I don’t see you for weeks.”

Castiel gnawed on nothing, shame slowly consuming his insides. “You know,” he started, “I think I might’ve been wrong.”

“About what?”

“About my decision to leave.” Castiel looked at Dean, body flashing with relief when Dean looked back, listening. “Perhaps I’m a bit of a hypocrite.”

“Hah,” Dean said. When Castiel cocked his head in query, Dean chuckled, “Hippo-crite.”

Castiel snorted in laughter, then had to turn away to wipe his nose on his sleeve while Dean guffawed, a laugh tumbling out of him and bounding between the trees like a joyful bunny rabbit.

“I mean it,” Castiel said, now convinced there were no boogers falling out of his nose. “I’ve been friends with students before; young, old, my own age. I’m still friends with them, in fact. It never mattered before what state their lives were in, whether they were living in parallel with me, whether they’d seen and done everything I could ever imagine, or if they were just getting started. It never matters. It shouldn’t matter. Yet for some reason it— It rattled me. Seeing you work a job that, in my opinion at the time, seemed beneath you.”

“Be—” Dean puffed. “ _Beneath_ me?”

“I’m sorry I made that judgement, Dean. I do think we could still be friends—”

“No, no, no, hang on. Wait up. One second, Cas.” Dean frowned, one finger up, mind still caught on something. “ _Beneath_ me?”

Castiel searched his eyes, left to right, right to left. There were too many pathways here; he didn’t know what Dean expected him to say.

“Listen,” Dean said, reaching to tug on Castiel’s tie. “Buddy.” He didn’t sound too friendly, and his smile seemed forced. “Show me a college student who doesn’t run on caffeine. Okay? Find me one. Find me _one_. I don’t care if they buy it on campus or not. I don’t care if their poison of choice is an energy drink, or sugar, or nothing but power naps, goji berries and herbal tea. Find me one student who’s intent on graduating at the end of the year, who _doesn’t_ need something akin to coffee, and by extension, _me_ , to do the thing they’re paying out the ass to _be here_ to do.”

Castiel couldn’t look away from those intense green eyes. He couldn’t breathe, either, and Dean wasn’t even holding his tie that tightly.

“Find me that person,” Dean said carefully, his voice almost a growl. “And maybe then I’ll believe that my job is _beneath_ me.” He let Castiel’s tie go, and Castiel jerked back by a few inches, released, suddenly light-headed. “Far as I’m concerned, pal, I keep this place running.”

He eyed Castiel’s satchel, and Castiel looked, seeing his own reusable cup there.

“Like I said, Dean,” Castiel said, his voice quiet and gritty, “I know I’m a hypocrite. And I understand how wrong I was, now. Please don’t think I don’t know.”

Dean was still ruffled, but he settled down just a little. He petted his rabbit, and he settled further.

“As I was saying,” Castiel went on, watching Dean stroke Zeppelin’s black velvet ears, “I-I, um.” He stumbled on his thoughts, unsure if they were appropriate to say aloud. Being here, with Dean, deciding with some force that, yes, they ought to be friends, but they were doing it wrong, made Castiel wonder if it was too soon to take things further.

“What?” Dean pried, looking at Castiel calmly now. He smiled a bit. “Spit it out, bud.”

Ah, he said that kindly. It suddenly became easier to speak.

“The reason it bothered me,” Castiel said, shy now, looking down at Dean’s boots and smiling to himself, “is because I rather imagined that, if you and I were in the same stage of our lives, currently, you and I could become... Well, our paths have aligned, haven’t they? Our timelines converge. We meet, we become friends... and then...?”

He tilted his head slightly, implying something further.

He saw the moment Dean realised what he meant and panicked.

“Oh! Oh-oh-oh, okay, right, you’re-you’re. Right. Right. Okay. Yup.”

Castiel squinted.

Dean was blushing, breath stuck in his throat, lips quivering, eyes darting everywhere. “You’re. Um. And I’m. Whew! All right.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Castiel murmured, caution deepening his voice. “You’re not straight, are you?”

Dean burst out in a breathy laugh, looking around to see if anyone was nearby. He chuckled again, then wet his lips and shook his head. “Nah. Nuh-uh. Not. That’s not, um.” He cleared his throat.

“Are you seeing someone?”

Dean shook his head again, nervous breaths flying out of him along with smiles. “Naw. I just. I haven’t—?” He shrugged a shoulder. “Guys. Don’t usually. Kind of new to me.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that I haven’t at _all_ ,” Dean hastened to add, looking at Castiel urgently. “I have. It’s just. Not. I-I-I’m not so great at. You know.”

“Talking to gay men.”

“Yeah that,” Dean rushed, eyes closing. “‘Specially when they flirt with me.”

Castiel laughed now, warmly, eyes shut as he rested a hand on Dean’s strong, almost-hairless forearm. “Don’t worry,” he said, giving Dean an assuring squeeze. “I’m terrible at flirting. Clearly.”

“How long you been trying to hit on me?” Dean asked.

“Um. Since we met.”

“When you lost your watch? Are you serious, _that_ was flirting?”

“How do you know I lost my watch?”

“Uh... You... told... me?”

“I did? When?”

“When we first met? Dude.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, focus drifting into the middle-distance. “When was that?”

“When... you... lost... your... watch...?”

Castiel squinted so hard he closed his eyes, desperately trying to think back. He’d retraced his steps that day so many times, he was sure every moment was seared into his memory. He realised he’d lost his watch, he paused on the path to look around, but he had class to get to... so...

“You asked me for the time,” Dean said, as Zeppelin crawled from his lap to Castiel’s, wanting to nibble his belt. “And I said it was three-fifty-two—”

“ _Three-fifty-blue,_ ” Castiel remembered in a burst, colours emerging where there was darkness in his mind, a familiar face forming on a figure who had looked very different in hindsight. “ _That_ was why I felt like I knew you?!”

Dean gawped. “You didn’t remember.”

“When you lost your rabbit, and we met in the hallway, I felt an instant connection, like I’d— I’d met you in another life,” Castiel explained, mildly dismayed.

Dean scoffed in awe. “I can’t imagine how much coffee you’ve drunk in the last month-and-a-bit, Cas, but God... I think you _needed_ to drink that much. Your brain was melting without it.”

“Yes, well,” Castiel bristled, then smiled. “I know where to find good coffee, now, don’t I? Five ‘til ten on Saturdays and Tuesdays.”

“Five...” Dean’s eyes suddenly shaded with horror. “Shit, what time is it?!” he yelped. He looked at his watch, then yelped again, leaping into the air and sprinting off, without warning, or a goodbye, or books, or his bag... or his rabbit.

Castiel looked down at Zeppelin, who rested her forehead on his abdomen, taking a rest there.

“Well then,” Castiel said. “I suppose I have a pet rabbit, now.”

   
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The reason Castiel prefered to grade papers outside on the campus grounds, in the botanic gardens, in the library, a coffee shop, his car, at home – or, one time, in the bathroom before class because he’d missed his morning alarm – was because his office was about as inhospitable a place as one could imagine.

There was a window, so there was breathable oxygen (technically), but it was a small window, and it was frosted for privacy, and opening it invited in the smell of fermenting garbage, as the window overlooked an alleyway where this block’s trash was left for collection.

He kept all his books in this room, because they didn’t mind the smell, or the gloom, or the seasonal variation between dampness and aridity – at least not as much as his plants had. Layers of crispy brown plant-shaped fuzz perched atop every stack of books and papers, every cabinet, filing system, and twenty-five-year-old desktop computer. There was only one of those, but it took up so much space in the little room, and was so aggressively beige, that Castiel was sure it grew whenever he wasn’t looking.

Tonight, Castiel entered his office backwards, hitting his heel on a metal filing cabinet and grunting, but refusing to buckle, as he had a rabbit carefully cuddled in his arms. He shut the door so Zeppelin couldn’t escape, then looked around for a place to put her.

Dean may have toted his bunny everywhere, but Castiel didn’t think any of his own usual haunts would be appropriate for a rabbit after dark. A black rabbit in a dark place? He dreaded losing her the way Dean lost her. He suddenly understood how she escaped: she was full of energy, and wriggled her way to the carpet – and then shot off, disappearing into the maze of books.

Castiel sighed.

“I suppose I’d better look up what to do with you,” he muttered, putting down Dean’s bag, then pacing and dodging his way through the book stacks, grunting when the corner of his desk stabbed him in the thigh. Checking there was no rabbit in the way, he pulled back his very ugly chair, and sat down to turn his computer on.

In the seven-and-a-half minutes it needed to boot up, Castiel busied himself with tidying his surrounding space. He found food wrappers, and drink cartons, and some dead moths, and collected them on a dirty, fungus-dotted plate. He’d lost the trash can amidst the garbage, so pushed the plate aside. He then got up to look for Zeppelin, calling for her, crouching to look under the expired parlour palm, then the crispy Boston fern.

“Where are you, my darling?” he called, crawling onto his hands and knees to see under whatever that big, black, boxy thing was, or had once been. “Zeppelin?”

Disappointed he couldn’t see anything, he got back up and sat down. He logged into his computer and opened his browser, then picked at a bit of loose skin beside his nail as he waited for Google to open.

Then he Googled ‘rabbit care’, and settled in to read.

He rubbed his stinging eyes. They never took well to the dust.

He checked the time on the computer and saw it was seven-thirty. He only had to keep Zeppelin alive until ten o’clock, when Dean finished his shift and collected her. That shouldn’t be too hard...

His computer screen blitzed and died. Castiel pressed a key in case the machine had decided it was screensaver time, but it remained off. The processor was silent.

Odd. He frowned.

He tried turning the computer on again, but it was unresponsive.

Deciding to check the power connection at the wall, he took hold of the cable from the back of the computer, and followed it down, fist sliding along the smooth outer wire. He crawled on the carpet again, limping on a hand when he stabbed his palm with a staple – and then began shifting a tunnel of books so he could find where the cable led.

After his fifteenth book – _Religious Warfare in Pre-Colonial Fantasy Fiction_ – he paused.

“Oh dear,” he said, having found Zeppelin. “You look far too pleased with yourself.”

Zeppelin was very contentedly munching on the computer wire. It was the dead end, thankfully; the thing had been entirely severed by eager rabbit teeth.

With an eye roll and a slightly distressed sigh, Castiel located the socket, turned off the power, and pulled out the plug, lifting it to see three feet of now-useless cabling.

“I think,” he said, “The next two-and-a-half hours may be harder to manage than I thought.”

   
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People knew college campuses were big. But nobody knew for sure how big a university really was until they knew exactly what they were looking for, but no idea where to find it, and there was nobody around to ask.

Dean had started looking in the humanities department, only to be informed by a janitor: no, Professor Castiel Novak’s office was not in the same place as his lecture hall. Thus Dean was sent on an epic quest to find that office.

Honestly? Epic quests were more fun in _Zelda_.

Of course, Dean had already checked every Hippocampus coffee shop. That took him the best part of an hour, and he was livid that Cas wasn’t in any of those places. He knew it wasn’t Cas’ fault, and it was in no way his responsibility to look after Zeppelin, nor to stay in an area that Dean would find accessible. Dean knew he was an asshole to up and leave someone with no rabbit experience with a whole entire rabbit for nearly three hours. But the level of frustration that anyone would feel after marching around an entire campus, always expecting to find something in particular, and repeatedly not finding that thing, was incalculable.

The point was, it was nearly midnight when Dean knocked on Castiel’s office door.

“Come in – but keep the door shut!” came a frazzled cry from inside.

Dean wondered how to do that. “No offence, man, but I’m not an expert at walking through walls. I mean, I’m dead on my feet but I ain’t a ghost just yet.”

Castiel said nothing for a bit. Then there was a tumbling of books, a huff of pain, then some hopping – the floor shook – then footsteps approached, along with some uncomfortable grunting.

Dean wet his lips, ready to apologise.

Castiel wrenched open the door as an avalanche of books came down behind him, but he didn’t look back, the way people in movies didn’t look at explosions. His hair was a bird’s nest, his eyebags all dark and droopy, his mouth a flat line with a smile on it. “Dean,” he said, both annoyedly and with unimaginable relief. He leaned in and kissed Dean on the lips, then took him by the collar and dragged him inside like a misbehaving imp. Dean went where he was dragged, still dazed by the kiss.

“Look!” Castiel said, equally proud and furious. He spread both hands towards the chaos zoo before him.

Dean slowly closed the door with one hand, his mouth agape, his eyes fixed on what Castiel had built.

He seemed to have constructed a rabbit pen out of thick, unwieldy textbooks. Bricked them up, like a wall. Four interlocking walls, in fact. Rectangle. Surrounding a redwood desk in the middle, on which perched a 1990s Windows PC, the likes of which Dean hadn’t seen since, well, the 1990s.

Floppy-eared Princess Zeppelin sat on top of the computer monitor, cleaning her face with her front paws, comfortable, like she’d found her throne at last.

Dean began to grin. “Awesome.”

“HAH!” Castiel exclaimed, in a mad-scientist sort of way. He was wild-eyed and clearly hysterical, but there was genuine pleasure in his eyes, and when he’d calmed down a bit, he grinned, putting his hands on his hips. His waistcoat was gone, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, his necktie was backwards, and he looked smug.

“I’m, uh,” Dean cleared his throat. “Sorry about—”

“Don’t you dare,” Castiel said, poking Dean’s lips with a dusty-smelling finger. “This was the most fun I’ve had in about eight years. And I rode a _horse_ once.”

Dean smirked, bowing his head to wipe his mouth on his t-shirt when Castiel pulled away.

“How was your shift?” Castiel asked, lifting a leg to pry a sticker off the sole of his bare foot.

“Uh. The usual. Made some coffee, got in trouble for being late.”

Castiel looked at him solemnly. “Are you often late?”

“Only, like, once a week.”

Castiel squinted. “You only have two shifts a week.”

“Yeah, so, not that often.” Dean shrugged. “I haven’t been fired yet.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, concerned.

“What?”

“I regret to inform you of this, but it must be said: you are, as they say, a ‘hot mess’.”

Dean gaped. “Oh yeah?” He spread his arms. “Which of us keeps forty dead plants and textbooks that went out of date nearly two decades ago?” He picked up _Proven Reasons Why This Turn of the Century Will Be The Last_ and waggled it, then dropped it, because it was upsettingly heavy. “Is this seriously your office? The physical manifestation of your work ethic? Tenure or not, Cas, you gotta get your act together.”

“I don’t work in here,” Castiel reasoned.

“No, you just use it to store firestarters and trash and dear God what _is_ that _smell_?!”

Castiel sighed and tiptoed his way to the window, pulling it shut. “You get used to it,” he said, before pulling a face that disagreed.

“And you haven’t found your watch,” Dean said, folding his arms. “And now I’ve seen this, Cas, I’m not surprised. What do you do when you want to find something in a specific book, hm?” He looked at the room, estimating there had to be maybe three thousand books in here. He feared for whatever room was directly below.

Castiel shrugged. “Look it up online?”

Dean bit his lip, and eased out a breath through his teeth, making an extended, “Fffffffffffff.”

Castiel seemed to realise there was a problem, and he began to look around in slowly-mounting anguish. A small frown descended between his brows, and the press of his lips tightened, his fingers wriggled, then curled into fists, and he then made a quiet sound of finality.

“I’m going to clear this place up,” he decided. “And I’m going to ask them to put the trash cans somewhere else.”

Dean nodded, clapping Castiel on the back when he got close enough.

“And you!” Castiel rounded on Dean, pointing a determined finger at his chin. “You will _not_ be late for any more shifts. You _have_ a watch, so _use_ it.”

Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Okay! Okay,” he said again, nodding as Castiel backed away. He exhaled, then shrugged. “I just get so caught up in studying and looking after Zepp that I kind of... not forget, exactly, but I put it off. One more minute. One more minute. Then something comes up and I gotta deal with that first.”

“Why _do_ you bring your rabbit to school, anyway?” Castiel asked, stepping over his book wall and reaching to pick up Zeppelin, holding her carefully to his chest with both hands. “And what happened to that leash you once mentioned?”

“She chewed through it,” Dean mumbled, taking his rabbit.

“The leash?”

“And my apartment,” Dean said quietly. “She, uh.” He cleared his throat. “She was banned from living there, and then there was this whole deal with a ‘black mark’ in the land-lords-and-ladies circles. So. Basically...” Dean’s eyes drifted, unwilling to say any more.

“Dean...” Castiel’s voice went soft and pitying, and Dean shied away from it, not wanting to see someone look down on him like that. “Dean, do you...? Are you...?”

“Just say it, Cas.”

Castiel sighed. “Do you have anywhere to live?”

“Me, yeah. I’m fine,” Dean said, looking down into his baby’s adorable little cross-eyes. “I got my brother’s couch. But he wouldn’t take the rabbit. For obvious reasons. So.” Dean shrugged.

“Where do you leave her overnight?” Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. “Just, around. Usually by the sycamores, she loves it there. She dug her own lil burrow. I mean, she’s fixed, so I’m not worried she’s gonna start breeding with something wild. But.” He shrugged again. “Would be nice if she had a real indoor home, you know?”

Castiel rubbed his hand over his mouth, eyeing the ramshackle office and the big space he’d cleared for the DIY rabbit pen. He let his hand fall, and his mind was made up.

“Come back here this weekend,” Castiel said. “Sunday? Whenever you’re free. We’re going to tackle... this.” He gestured to the chaos. “And then we’ll find somewhere safe you can put her.”

Dean wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait, where’s the place?” he asked. “Where’re we gonna put her?”

Castiel smiled wider and wider until his eyes crinkled at the sides, apparently charmed by Dean’s confusion. He leaned close and gave Dean a small, gentle kiss, so tender that it sent warm sparkles down Dean’s body, tapping each limb like falling rain. “Here, Dean. My office. Mi casa es rabbit casa.”

Dean blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Entirely.”

Castiel reached to scritch between Zeppelin’s ears, and she lifted her head to lean into the touch, eyes closed. Wow, they’d really made friends.

Dean smiled. “Thanks,” he said, getting a little misty-eyed. “And thank you for— Everything. Including—” His breath caught, released, and he leaned close to kiss Castiel back, head tilted. Castiel seemed surprised, but smiled when Dean fell back.

“Ahhh.” Dean rolled a shoulder, smiling. “I should. You know. Get home.”

“Agreed,” Castiel said, patting Dean’s bicep twice. “So should I. We both need some sleep.”

“Sleep? On my brother’s _couch_? Yeah right,” Dean uttered, with a small eye-roll. “See you around, Cas.” He shouldered his rabbit, and left her draped there as he opened the door. “Sunday, yeah? How’s ten a.m. sound?”

“It’s a date,” Castiel smiled.

   
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Dean arrived carrying ten big, empty boxes nested inside each other, with a roll of trash bags in the centre, and had already brought up a broom, a vacuum cleaner (his brother’s, apparently, the same brother who’d dropped him off), and no rabbit.

“Sammy agreed to rabbit-sit,” he said, dumping all the boxes in the hallway outside Castiel’s office, where the morning sunlight just grasped their bottom corners. “So you and me, Cas, we got all day to deal with whatever’s in there.” He pointed at the office door, propped open with a five-inch textbook, then swung his finger towards Castiel, tapping his noggin. “And in there.”

Castiel blinked, rolling up the sleeves on his wide-striped long-sleeve top. “I’m ready.”

“Are you, though?” Dean asked, hands on his hips. “When we’re done, what’s it gonna look like?”

“I don’t know, it depends if we start now, or next week,” Castiel said flatly, gazing at Dean. “Are you helping me or not?”

“I am helping,” Dean argued. “You gotta _visualise_ , dude.” He wiggled his fingers beside his own ears, eyes closed. “What does your ideal office look like? What would your work day consist of? What does it smell like?”

“Clean,” Castiel said, arms folded.

“Aaaaand...?” Dean rolled a finger, trying to pull something else out of him.

Castiel huffed. “I don’t know,” he said, arms flaring out. “I drink coffee with breakfast, I come into work, I greet your rabbit – who is safely in a chew-proof run in my office – I look through emails—?”

“Good, and?”

“ _Then_ , Dean, then I go to class on time, because I have my watch back, and I teach all my classes, take a walk as I come back here...” His expression changed, daydreaming. More softly, he went on, “And... I’d do all my marking for the day here... _every_ day, before it piles up...” He smiled to himself. “Water my plants. Play with Zeppelin. Drink more coffee. Then go home before it gets dark.”

“And?”

“And—” Castiel got stuck, but from the way he looked at Dean, Dean could see he wasn’t actually stuck.

“What,” Dean urged.

“Nothing,” Castiel said, eyes lowering. “I drink more coffee, eat dinner, go to bed, read a fiction book, and sleep.”

Dean sensed a secret. “Am I not in this picture? Did you just steal my rabbit?”

Castiel chuckled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Where am I in this vision of yours, Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes teased their way back to meeting Dean’s, and then, finally, he released his secret: “I’d like to come home to... somebody. I suppose it would be you, if I have your rabbit.”

“I should damn well hope so, anyway,” Dean said, affronted, but smiling. “Maybe we... head home together, since we’re both here most days.” He blushed as he said it.

“Yes.”

They gazed at each other for a while. Soon Dean licked his lips, smiling down at the carpet. “Uh. Right. So. That vision gives us a lot of information about what we gotta do here. At some point you’re gonna need to get a laptop instead of that dead relic in there. And the books are pretty much out of the picture—”

“What! No!” Castiel looked aghast. “Do you know how much _money_ those cost, Dean?”

“Yeah, bud, I think I do. I’ve got a three-thousand-dollar nightstand sitting by Sam’s couch right now.”

“I can’t get _rid_ of them,” Castiel objected, almost whining. “There’s so much information inside them. All that work the authors did...”

“Do you ever read them?” Dean eyed the doorstop. “Do you ever use them for anything other than propping things up, or open, or weighing things down?”

Castiel’s mouth slid open. “Some of them... look... nice?”

Dean hummed, one eye narrowed.

“Don’t judge me, I’m a book person,” Castiel said crossly. “Just because I happen to do most of my reading online or for my job, doesn’t mean I’m not a reader.”

Dean chuckled and wafted a hand dismissively. “You can keep the books, Cas.”

“All of them?”

“We’ll get to that,” Dean said. “Do you have any, like... clothes, here?”

“No? Only my emergency formal suit,” Castiel said. “And my backup everyday outfit. And a few neckties, just in case. And my gym clothes, and spare socks and underwear, too, obviously. And dress shoes, and sneakers – oh, and orthopedic slippers for when my tendon plays up.”

“So basically you have a whole wardrobe here.”

“Um... Yes.”

Dean clapped Castiel on the shoulder and turned towards the room. “Grab ‘em and put ‘em in a pile, and we’ll start there.”

   
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“This seems unnecessary,” Castiel declared, tossing his formal suit on the floor. “And unhygienic.”

“I vacuumed, it’s fine,” Dean said, tossing Castiel’s neckties onto the mound. “Where’s that spare underwear?”

“Here.” Castiel wrenched open the bottom drawer of his desk, digging through crumpled paper to find boxers with bananas on them, and blue Y-fronts with a neon green trim. He tossed them to Dean, who caught them, and admired them while laughing. “Oh, shut up,” Castiel said lightly, smiling as he approached. “They’re backup-backup.”

Dean put them on the pile, grinning. “Okay,” he said, “so how’d you feel, looking at this?”

“At this big unnecessary pile you just made on the floor?” Castiel scoffed. “Annoyed.”

“No, ignore that. The pile’s up to your knees, Cas. How does that make you feel?”

“I don’t know, what am I supposed to feel?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. Guess it’s personal. I did this with my own crap, back when I got booted from my place? And I piled all the stuff on the bed and it was up to my shoulders. Plaid shirts and jeans and t-shirts and jackets and outerwear and panti— um, underwear, and, and.” He shrugged. “Way more stuff than I needed, or thought I had.”

“How did you decide what to get rid of?”

“It’s not about that,” Dean said, feeling a righteous sense of purpose, and the control that only came from knowing exactly what he was talking about. “It’s about what you wanna _keep_. You go through everything you own, one thing at a time, and you pick it up and touch it. If it makes you happy, you keep it. If it doesn’t, you toss it. Donate it, gift it, whatever. You find a specific home for everything you want to keep. And you thank the items you discard for everything they did for you, even if they only made you happy once.”

Castiel sneered a little. “They’re clothes, Dean, they’re not designed for happiness.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dean shrugged. “I was always embarrassed to wear a suit. Like I was trying too hard or something; looked like a seventh grader at his first dance. But it was just _that_ suit I didn’t like. It didn’t fit right, and I didn’t figure that out until years on. Now? Good suit? If confidence is sexy— Wwheeeeww,” he breathed, almost a whistle, fanning his face. “You’d need that backup-backup underwear if you saw me, I tell ya.”

Castiel fidgeted. “None of these make me happy, Dean, they’re just serving a purpose.” He picked up the underwear on the top, turning it back and forth. “I suppose they’re fun. But I don’t put them on to _have_ fun.”

“Having a purpose is kind of like joy. And... could you? Put them on for fun. Do you like the banana ones more than whatever you’re wearing now?”

Castiel seemed stumped. “I don’t know.”

“All right, well, let’s take this from a different angle. What’s your favourite thing to wear?” Dean asked, toeing at a shirt sleeve. “If you could keep only one item from this pile, or all the clothes at home, what would it be?”

Castiel shook his head. “None of these—” His eyes darted to the office door, and Dean’s eyes followed him as he walked that way. “This.” He plucked his camel-coloured trenchcoat from the back of the door, scooping it lovingly over his arm. He brought it to Dean, showing him.

Dean grinned. “You look at that thing like I look at Zepp.”

“Do I?”

“Heart-eyes.”

Castiel began to smile. “That’s happiness?”

“It sparks joy for you,” Dean said. “Throw that on the desk, and we’ll go from there.”

Castiel ignored him and went to hang it back on the door hook.

“You know what?” Dean chuckled. “You’ve kind of already got this down, Cas. Anything that actually brings you joy, you look after it. And you know exactly where you wanna keep it. That coat. My rabbit. Me.”

He looked around, and immediately spied one living plant by the window. It was frail and just hanging on to life, but it was planted in a nice pot, and tied to a stick to keep it upright, and there was a watering can beside it. Dean smiled. Once they got through the clothes, and the books, he knew the plants would be easy.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
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Castiel couldn’t stop smiling. They’d moved onto books within half an hour, but he kept pausing to look back, admiring the pile of specially-folded clothes on the desktop. Two black suits, one shabby-looking waistcoat he’d worn when he taught his first class, three blue neckties, and a white shirt he wasn’t too fond of but needed, and soon intended to replace with one he liked better.

All the other coloured neckties were ready for donation, and until he’d picked out his favourites, he’d never once realised he only liked the blue ones.

“That really is marvellous,” Castiel said, making Dean look up from his backbreaking work of book-shifting. “All the colours match. Black, blue, white. And brown. The same colours as my hair, my eyes, the same undertone as my skin. I have a colour palette!”

Dean grinned, still looking at _Shades of Grey: A Complete Modern History of the Oppression of Colour-Blind People (1975 Edition)_.

“I never knew,” Castiel said to himself, looking back at the books but not seeing them. “All this time I’d been lifting ties to my chin and wondering why I’m rarely satisfied.”

“Blue brings out your eyes,” Dean said, passing Castiel his untouched user manual for Windows ‘95. “And don’t feel bad about not being totally into the waistcoats, either. You still look like a Professor without them. And way less uptight, besides.”

Castiel looked at the computer manual, wondering if he’d ever use it. He never had before, when he _had_ Windows ‘95. Maybe it was worth something on Ebay. And if it was, surely it would be worth more if he kept it for longer?

“Taking too long, Cas,” Dean warned. “Joy is—” he snapped his fingers, “like that. You know it right away.”

“But getting my money back brings me joy.”

Dean laughed. “Trust me, Cas, the only people who want that manual are collectors, and they’ve already got one, or eighty. Recycle that bish.” He kicked a wheeled laundry basket towards Castiel, and Castiel placed the manual on top of the other forty manuals in there. He looked down at the collection, unsure whether they all belonged there.

But then he looked at the pile he was keeping, and everything there seemed to sparkle. He looked down at the discarded books, and they were dull and shadowy and lifeless. He’d made the right choices. He pushed away the basket, and took the next book Dean handed him.

 _The Gruesome and Tragic Religious History of Sovereignty in England_ , it said, in big serif letters.

Castiel stared for a while.

“What, what’s the hold-up?” Dean inquired.

“It’s so miserable,” Castiel said. “But the research is thorough. And it has good pictures. The writing style is... decent.”

“So tear the pictures and your favourite bits out,” Dean said.

“I’m sorry, _tear_...?”

“And toss the rest.”

“Excuse you!” Castiel hugged the book to his chest. “You are utterly despicable.”

Dean gave a lopsided grin, showing off his perfect teeth. “So keep it,” he said. “All of it.”

Castiel hesitated, then hesitated again. “I’m going to put it in a ‘maybe’ pile.”

“Maybe means no,” Dean said.

“Maybe means _maybe_.”

“Okay, well, look at it this way,” Dean said, turning to lean on the cabinet they’d unearthed, and were using to sort books. “In that vision of yours, is that book ever part of it? Do you pull it off the shelf while you’re grading papers? Will you take it home and read it before bed?”

Castiel pondered. “No. But I like the pictures, and don’t you _dare_ tell me to rip them out—”

“So photocopy them,” Dean said. “Frame them. Put the best ones up in a gallery wall, or some shit, I dunno. There, look, you’ve got a blank wall, put them up there. Hell, if it’s all old paintings, they might be online anyway, and you could just print them out, or order posters.”

Castiel thought that was a good idea. He smiled, and placed the book in the donate-slash-sell pile. He took a photo with his cellphone, so he’d remember to look it up later, and would also never forget that he once owned the book. “Thank you,” he whispered to it, before turning back to Dean.

“This?” Dean asked, holding a book over his shoulder.

Castiel grinned before he even took it. “ _Jewish Interpretations of Modern Satanism_. Oh, yes.”

“Really?” Dean looked snide. “ _That_ brings you joy?”

“Did you forget I’m a Religious Studies Professor?” Castiel intoned, turning away to put the book on his ‘keep’ pile. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a particular book on – I don’t know – theoretical waveform thermodynamics that makes your heart float when you hold it.”

Dean stood open-mouthed for a moment, then chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, actually. You know which one? _The Little Engine That Could_.”

“Oh?”

“The train struggles on the way up. Right? But there’s an easy ride after it passes the top of the hill. And the first time my mom read that to me, I had a slew of questions – not about the story, but about why it was harder going uphill. ‘Cause I’d felt that for myself, you know? Gravity. Weight resistance. That was the first time I remember being real curious about physics, and wanting to know – everything, really. And my mom was such a good sport, too. She knew everything. She told me why the sky was blue, as well.”

Castiel smiled. “Are you still close with your mom?”

Dean snickered. “Oh yeah. She makes me Winchester Surprise every time I go visit. Heart attack on a plate.” He wore a soft smile, drifting into memories. “I went into science because of her. Dad’s a hunter – disappears for weeks, goes out shooting Bambi and bunny rabbits and whatever else.” Dean’s face tensed. “Didn’t follow in his footsteps. For obvious reasons. That, uh. Caused a lot of friction.”

Castiel pulled what he hoped was a sympathetic expression, but he suspected he just looked uncomfortable.

“Mom was my pillar of support growin’ up,” Dean said gladly. “Wouldn’t be here without her. And Sammy, too. Uncle Bobby. And then my friends Charlie and Donna from high school. That lot kept pullin’ me up when all I wanted to do was let go.”

He took a slow breath, then looked sidelong at Castiel, as Castiel put away three more books. “What about you?” Dean asked. “Family?”

Castiel shook his head. “Some. Then none.” He shrugged. “Just me.”

“Oh. That’s too bad, man. Can I...? Can I ask what happened, or—?”

Castiel licked his lips, his vision blurring. “They live out of state,” he said, hearing his own voice sound a little hollow. “Or, to be fair,” his vision came back, and he carried on sorting books, “I’m the one who’s out of state. I left when they decided I wasn’t a valued part of their family any more.”

“Why—?”

“Take a guess,” Castiel said, turning away and dumping six books at once.

Dean’s breath caught. “You’re gay.”

“I’m happier now,” Castiel said, giving Dean a smile. “I suppose that was my first realisation in deciding whether or not something brought me joy. Those people didn’t do anything positive for me. They might have, once, and I do have fond memories, but that was... that’s the past. I can remember the people I once knew, but they’re not the same as the people they became. So.” He put another once-loved book in the donate pile. “Thank you so much for everything you did for me. I hope you have a nice life without me. Goodbye.”

Dean smiled sadly, touching Castiel’s arm when he returned to his side. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel shook his head, pressing his lips together. “I’m always sorry. For everything. But, you know what?” Nodding, he asserted: “I’m not sorry to let something or someone go from my life, if all it does is hurt me, or collect dust.” He looked at the ‘keep’ pile, and saw how it had grown, and sparkled even more than before. “The things and people I want in my life... they fit with what I want for myself. They can love what I love, or at least tolerate it.” He looked at Dean kindly, then kissed him, and pulled away smiling. “They help me. And, when this is all done... I can help them in return.”

Dean looked back, green eyes glistening with appreciation.

Castiel gazed back, feeling so... _so_ much joy.

   


   
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They were done for the day.

Actually, no, they weren’t done at all. But this part of the job was over, and they were exhausted, so, by inference, they were done for the day.

Dean lay on his back on the office carpet, halfway into a nap.

Castiel was still obsessed with his ‘keep’ piles, fussing over them, arranging them, patting them lovingly. He felt the prickle of sleep in his eyes, but didn’t want to tear himself away from all these new things he’d discovered about himself.

He realised he loved his job. He’d wondered for a while if it was truly right for him, but today, Dean, and the methods he’d learned from a book written by a terrifyingly tiny Japanese woman, had helped Castiel reconnect with what he did for a living.

His job brought him joy – immense joy. What didn’t bring him joy was the way he chose to do it. For years he’d ignored more and more problems with his work space, and his schedule, and his general attitude towards getting things done. As of today, he had a _vision_ , and his heart was set on achieving it. He would stop at nothing until the walls were painted a fresh white, he was surrounded by unkillable plants, he could brew coffee in the comfort of his own office, and he had a laptop sitting neatly in the middle of his clear-topped desk, with a nice flexible-backed chair, at which he would sit properly, and do things on time.

There were two-thousand, five-hundred-and-ninety-four books outside on the campus walkway, free for the taking, in case anyone wanted to take a look and nab a few as the sun went down. He suspected the staff in the art department might purloin a good number for various projects. And the drama department might need some counterweights. If the collection was, at the very least, cut in half, then there’d be a lot less he’d have to find homes for.

He couldn’t believe he’d gone through them all in one day. No wonder Dean was snoring.

The office was near unrecognisable. He could see most of the carpet, besides where the filing cabinets stood, stuffed with paper. He felt lighter, and the room felt lighter, and the building itself was probably a couple tons lighter, too.

It wasn’t even ten o’clock, yet, but Castiel knew he was too tired to go home.

So he lay down on the floor next to Dean, and shut his eyes. Just for a minute...

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

Dean woke up, squinting against the light. Not daylight: the ceiling light. They’d left it on, and it glared yellow.

Dean groaned, feeling pain from every inch of his body. “HGGH,” he complained, sitting up.

Castiel stirred. He sat up too, clutching his neck. “Wh,” he said. “What time is it.”

Dean smacked his dry lips, tasting a dull echo of the take-out burgers they’d ordered. His digital watch was still glitching, having been bumped by a six-storey book skyscraper. “Nearly twelve?”

Castiel squinted. “Morning or evening?”

Dean wasn’t sure. He got to his feet, repressing a yell of pain, and hobbled to the window and opened it up. Fresh morning air gushed over his hands, nary a garbage stink on the wind. He sighed. “It’s freaking _noon_.”

“On... Sun...day?”

“Monday.”

Castiel looked at Dean like he’d grown horns. “No.”

“Yeah, bud.” Dean’s back cricked as he touched it, and he grunted.

“No, it can’t be noon on Monday, I have— I have a class. At nine on Monday.”

Dean pulled a face. “Well, shit.”

“No, I can’t— I don’t believe you,” Castiel said, shaking his head and getting up. Scowling, he paced to his desk and opened the top drawer, pawing around until he pulled out his own watch. “Aha! See! It’s only nine.”

Dean squinted and tilted his head a bit, uncertain what he’d just witnessed.

“There, you see,” Castiel said, putting on his watch and buckling it onto his wrist. “I’m only currently very late, I haven’t missed it entirely.”

“Cas,” Dean said, licking his lips. “Can you tell me what you’re doing right now?”

“Thinking about breakfast. And needing to pee.”

“With your hands.”

Castiel tugged down his stripy long-sleeved shirt. “I’m making myself look presentable.”

Dean sucked his lips between his teeth. He crossed the room from the window, went behind the desk, took Castiel’s hand – “Oh, Dean, hello, what—?” – and lifted his wrist so Cas saw the watch.

Castiel looked at it.

He blinked.

Then he _yelled_.

“DEAN MY WATCH. YOU FOUND MY W— Oh, I can’t believe, where was it, how did you—? Dear _God_ , was it in there all along? I swear I checked— A hundred times! A hundred times, I looked, I swear to you, I turned this place upside-down looking—”

“Sure _that_ didn’t help,” Dean uttered.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel cried, taking Dean by the cheeks and planting a big, loud kiss on him, then pulling back, blue eyes aflame. “Thank you _so_ much.”

“Hey, you were the one who found it on autopilot,” Dean said. “You _knew_ where it was, deep inside your hot-mess brain, you freakin’ weirdo.”

“But I never would’ve found it unless you helped me clear out the clutter,” Castiel argued. “Thank you.”

“Psh, thank Marie Kondo,” Dean muttered, but then grinned. “And you’re welcome.”

Castiel breathed, hands over his eyes. “Okay. Okay, I need to— Bathroom. Food. Lecture.”

Dean smacked his back. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Castiel gave Dean one more kiss before they left together. Castiel walked along beside Dean, marvelling at his beloved watch. It was plastic and black, with yellow hands, and had the _Looney Tunes_ Road Runner on its face.

“Guess that thing brings you joy, huh?”

“Yes, it does, Dean,” Castiel said, happily. “Yes, it does.”

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

While the books had been the biggest obstacle in terms of space, Castiel needed several weeks to sort through all the paper and filing he had in his office. One sheet of paper might not take up much room in a singular form, but when grouped with thousands upon thousands of papers just like it, the task to decide what to keep became daunting, and breaks were required.

The fact that the space was an office, and technically everything on file was not his property, but the university’s, further complicated matters. He needed permission to discard, and paid assistance in digitising and shredding, and a whole different cabinet for things submitted by students.

Dean dropped by occasionally, with and without Zeppelin, lending a hand – not with the papers, he wasn’t allowed to look at those – but with cups of coffee, and hugs from behind, and a nice laugh when the sorting and the grading and the gloomy space got the best of Castiel.

They didn’t consider those times together as ‘dates’, but at the end of a month, going on two now, they realised together that not only had they become increasingly good friends, but they’d essentially been seeing each other on a consistent schedule, sharing food and drinks, and growing more fond of each other without even noticing.

Zeppelin had a foldable rabbit run on the office floor. It was temporary – she liked to chew through wood, so Dean had patched the thing up a few times, and vacuumed up the sawdust. But the time for ‘temporary’ was coming to an end; Dean and Castiel both knew it.

Castiel was almost done with the papers. He had only a small folder of personal mementos – and the rest? The rest was contained within a single metal cabinet near the door, the black one he liked best. The papers inside were kept because they served a purpose, not joy. Everything else no longer lived in this room.

Castiel liked an industrial design style with a little soft bohemian flair thrown in. Metal, dark wood, sleek lines, exposed Edison bulbs, natural-toned woven fabric – and plants. Lots of plants. Dean had bought Castiel seven different varieties of snake plants, also known as _Sansevieria_ , or mother-in-law’s-tongue. They were the plants on the tables at Hippocampus; they barely needed watering, they didn’t mind the dark, and the really big ones looked cool in raised planters with pipe legs. Dean also acquired a plastic fern to put on the side away from the window. Castiel was delighted. Nothing could get as unkillable as _that_.

There was a big floor-length mirror opposite the window now, so the light was doubled. Beside that was a open clothes rack, where Castiel kept his favourite items, as well as his coat and satchel. There was a dish on his desk specifically for his watch.

Although insufferable heat carried on, the final semester ended for summer break, and so it was midsummer when they finally painted the room. Castiel had had to request special permission to do it himself; the powers that be tended towards hiring painters. But he wanted an afternoon with Dean.

And so they had it.

Dean stretched tall, shirt riding up as he pushed the paint roller across the ceiling. Castiel laughed in a quiet kind of delight, cozying up to Dean and kissing his neck. Dean snuffled at him, then grinned, looking down just long enough to kiss Castiel’s nose before getting back to work.

Castiel went back to painting the walls, but cast a look in Dean’s direction every so often. He thought... yes, perhaps he loved him. He’d loved him as a friend for a long time already, but now it was different. He’d suspected it would’ve happened eventually – he believed in fate, after all, and his forgetfulness long ago was part of that – but sometime in the last few weeks, the two of them seemed to have sank into something comfortable, something soft and warm, their hearts together shining, sun-bronzed, like the leaves on the sycamores.

It was a lovely thing to feel.

“Oh!” Dean lowered the roller, and it spun, spitting white specks all over his t-shirt. But he was focused on Zeppelin, and put down his roller and picked her up instead. Castiel went over, curious.

Dean grinned, showing Castiel.

She had a drop of white paint on her ear.

“That won’t do,” Castiel said to her, lifting the hem of his own paint-covered t-shirt to wipe her ear. “We’re painting a room, not little bunnies.”

“Ohh, that’s better,” Dean said adoringly, holding Zeppelin up to eye-height once she was clean. “Black velvet.”

“ _Black veeeelvet,_ ” Castiel sang, recalling a favourite song of his. “ _A new religiooon, to bring them, to their kneee-ees—_ ”

“So you’re just gonna start in the middle, is that it,” Dean said, starting to sway with Zeppelin in his arms. “Go from the top, Cas. _Mississippi, in the middle of a dry spell—_ ”

“ _Hibby hummbaah baha bah bahaaha baha bhumm hum,_ ” Castiel sang.

Dean snorted. “Oh, yeah, genius-dot-com is _definitely_ gonna call you when they want to know the lyrics. “ _Mama's dancin’, with baby on her shoulder— The sun is settin' like molasses in the sky..._ ” His voice corrupted just right on the words, coming out melodious and rasping, just like Alannah Myles’ did.

Dean reached the end of the opening verse, with Castiel singing nonsense along with him. They came up on the chorus together, Dean swaying with his rabbit, Castiel just swaying.

He sang: “ _Black veeelvet, and that sycamore smile.... Black veeelvet, in that slow, Southern style— A new religioooon, to bring theeem, to their knee-eees... Black veelvet.... iif youu please..._ ”

Dean shook his head fondly. “You know those aren’t the lyrics, right?”

“Which part?” Castiel asked, as they kept swaying, Castiel holding Dean’s shoulders now, slow-dancing.

“Sycamore smile. What is that? What does that mean?”

“I always thought it was the raw emotion you feel when out in the wilderness,” Castiel frowned. “The song talks about white lightning and a heatwave and a community enjoying it together— No? You’re shaking your head, why?”

“It’s about a singer in a bar, Cas.”

“No, it’s about the epic power of nature.”

Dean laughed, eyes crinkling, the pigment of his freckles stronger than ever. “Let’s say it’s about both, how about that.” He took Castiel by the hand and twirled him, and together they sang, “Black veeeelvet and that sycamore smile... Black veeelvet, in that slow, Southern style... A new religiooooon, to bring them, to their kneee-eees... Black velveeet... ii-if you pleeease...”

The late summer sun blazed golden through the open window, setting joyous fires around them. In their cradled arms, Zeppelin bobbed, their little black velvet darling.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

“Sooooo... this is your place,” Dean marvelled, eyes following the cobwebs on the ceiling as he walked Castiel’s hallway, an army-surplus duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Together Dean and Castiel emerged into a living room, with a chunky red couch and empty shelves lining the walls. “Huh. I was actually expecting it to be messier. No offence.”

“It was worse,” Castiel agreed, heading into the small kitchen and pulling out glasses to pour a himself and Dean a drink. “I went through all the papers during my days at work, and then came back here and kept seeing things out of place, and found it... very easy, actually, just to pluck joyless items from the rest without needing to follow the KonMari Method in order.”

“Good for you, man,” Dean said, slinging his bag onto the couch, then taking the carbonated orange something-or-other Castiel handed him. He took a sip, then exhaled with the liquid fizzing on his tongue, and finally swallowed, looking around at the place. “You know what, this’ll be great once we’re done with it. It’s small but the place has good bones.”

“You really think it’ll take the whole break?” Castiel asked, sitting down, then resting a bare ankle on his knee once Dean sat beside him. “What is it now, June thirtieth?” He smiled. “I’d be surprised if you can stick out living with me until mid-July.”

“Hey, I’ve lived with Sammy for over a year now, I can cope just fine with your single-bachelor hot-mess lifestyle.”

Castiel let his foot fall back to the rug, and then leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, head down to peer into his fizzing glass.

“What?” Dean pried, sipping his drink, then nudging Castiel. “You went all broody. I should probably stop callin’ you a hot mess, huh. You’re getting your shit together. It’s a work in progress, but you’re gettin’ somewhere...”

“It’s just,” Castiel said, “it’s not really a single-bachelor lifestyle, is it? I’m not single.”

Dean smirked, shrugging. “Guess not.”

They caught each other’s eyes, softly smiling.

Dean hummed in contentment, then glanced away. “I think I can find space here for all my stuff. When I got evicted n’ I went through everything I owned, I realised I always preferred to travel light, I just started hoarding when I had a proper home base. So, now, I got one duffel bag of clothes and personal crap—” he patted the bag, “and a stack’a books and music that Sam’s bringing over later, along with Zeppelin and her gear, and that’s pretty much it. I can borrow your kitchen and bathroom stuff, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then hell, I’m staying until school starts up again,” Dean sighed, flopping back onto the couch cushions. “Maybe forever.” He kicked his boots onto the rug, then plopped his feet onto Castiel’s lap. Castiel chuckled, as Dean grinned – and Castiel held Dean’s foot with a hand, stroking him gently.

Dean had meant it as a joke. He only intended to stay on Castiel’s couch until this apartment was as true to Castiel’s vision as his office was. Dean would leave by mid-July, like Castiel said.

...But come mid-July, neither of them had even considered that Dean should go anywhere else.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

Dean’s decor style tended towards farmhouse-meets-dive-bar, with raw wood, decorative car license plates, and colourful beer-related neon signage anywhere he could fit it. Castiel’s living room started as a blank beige canvas, and ended up as a darkwood shiplap gaming-room fantasy, with enough of his favoured industrial style that it was clear he lived there too.

Dean could keep a rabbit alive just fine, so he took over the plant care side of things. Soon they had a little garden outside, and by the tail end of July, Castiel had picked up a thing or two from watching Dean. They each had gardening gloves of their own, now.

Castiel had managed not to kill an indoor palm for a whole month, which Dean said was the work of good lighting, but Castiel was sure all his whispered encouragements for the plant had helped, too.

They got rid of the red canvas couch. It brought neither of them joy.

Okay, no, they didn’t have anything to replace it. And sitting cross-legged on Dean’s air mattress was maaaaybe not the best idea for two forty-something men who’d had ‘learn yoga’ and ‘get back to wrestling (and ballet)’ as yearly resolutions for a combined decade.

So, throughout one very long, very tedious, yet weirdly enjoyable afternoon, they visited every thrift store in a fifty-mile radius, and returned home triumphant, with a mid-century-esque couch with four wooden pin legs and a brown leather seat. It converted into a bed for guests.

They both loved it. It was perfect.

And yet even once Dean’s air mattress was deflated, and rolled up, and he was ready for bed, he hesitated, not sure if he was meant to sleep on the leather couch, the way he’d been sleeping on the red couch, then his air mattress, for over a month now. Dean had thrown his soul into decorating this place, making it his own as much as Castiel’s. They’d gone halves on everything from food, to rent, to dishwashing duty, to evening movie picks.

Was he still a guest?

He didn’t even need to ask. On his way to bed, Castiel saw Dean standing in his boxers, looking ponderously at the couch. Castiel shook his head. He padded softly up to Dean, kissed his shoulder, took his wrist, and guided him to his bedroom.

 _Their_ bedroom.

Dean lay down, immediately at peace. He snuggled up to Castiel, and Castiel snuggled up to him. They smiled. They kissed, just once.

And they fell asleep, happily entangled.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

Sometimes they took Zeppelin to the park. Just for a runaround, for a stroll, a picnic. Dean almost felt mad doing a thing like that, putting lunch in a wicker basket and sliding a checkered blanket under the loop to carry, then heading out to sit by a pond, with his pet rabbit on a leash, where there were ducks around, and blue skies.

Obviously it was delightful. But what forty-year-old man did that unless they had children or a old-fashioned beau to woo?!

Dean soon mellowed over this worry, with a full stomach and a happy smile, lying back with Castiel to watch the clouds go by. He could hear Zeppelin munching on grass nearby, her leash carefully wrapped around his wrist.

It was official: Dean was an old-fashioned boyfriend. And Cas, as a gentleman, had wooed him pretty much every day.

You know what? Dean was okay with that.

“That cloud looks like Zeppelin,” Castiel said lowly, pointing up into the sky.

“Looks like a blimp to me,” Dean said, and Castiel tilted his head, then burst out laughing. Dean chuckled too, turning his head on the blanket to look at Cas.

Castiel soon looked back, magical blue eyes and a subtle smile of pleasure.

“Where did you come from, Dean?” he asked, in a wondrous sort of way. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Right place, right time,” Dean supposed. He turned his eyes back to the sky, and decided to answer properly. “To be fair, I had a pretty great life before you came along, Cas. I roamed the country since I was a kid, never settling for longer than, like, a month, two months. First with Mom, then with Sam. We went wherever we wanted. Every state. Mexico too. Canada once – and then we left. Too damn cold, too many mountains.”

Castiel chuckled.

“But, ahhh...” Dean sucked his lower lip. “We realised we had to stop eventually, you know? As kids we got by doing odd chores for the motel staff. It was cute, and we got tips. Then as teenagers we hustled pool and fixed sinks. But that shit started to get real old when we hit our thirties. People say if you do nothing else with your life, at least travel. But we _did_ that, and we had nothing outward to show for it besides memories. You can tell someone you’re smart and you know how to do somethin’ but they won’t believe you unless you have the credentials. So.” He shrugged, eyes darting to check on Zeppelin. “We had to settle. Picked a state, took out loans with Mom’s house as collateral. Both of us started college.”

“But Sam graduated already.”

“Yeah, in four years, can you believe it? Hotshot lawyer kid.”

“Hardly a kid, if he’s thirty-six now.”

“Kid enough to me.” Dean smiled, closing one eye against the too-bright beam of the sun. “It took me a handful of tries to get this far. I dropped out of college, started a business, business went under. My friends had to bail – they had their own issues to deal with – and it wasn’t that I didn’t know _what_ I was doing, but everything I _was_ doing just... _collapsed_ without their support. Rocky’s Bar. Freakin’ loved that place.”

“That’s where all your neon signs came from.”

“Yeah.” Dean gulped, missing his old life. But then he looked at Castiel and was grateful for his new one, heart floating on a cloud. “I love the science stuff I’m learning, Cas. I do. But is it crazy if all I ever wanted was to run a business? Retail, hospitality. Something small. Something local. A brewery, a bar, a diner, a charming little B-and-B, I don’t know. I figured out _why_ I dropped out of school the first time. I wanted something else, deep down. But even while I held onto that dream of running a business, I felt like—? Like I should want more. Like I should expect more of myself than just making people drinks.”

“But,” Castiel said in confusion, “you got so upset when I said selling coffee was ‘beneath’ you. Why were you offended if you already thought the same of yourself?”

“Cas, that _is_ why. That’s why I got upset. It hurts more, you know? When you’re insecure about something and then someone pokes it.”

“Oh.”

“Either way,” Dean went on, voice firming, ”This time I’m gonna stick to the plan. Keep working up to that vision of mine, even if that dream is owning a business, even if I’m gonna have a Bachelor of Physics I’m only ever gonna use to brew coffee. And dammit, Cas, whether or not it brings me joy right now, I’m gonna stick it out ‘til the end. Because, end of the day, I’m just gonna be glad I finished what I started.”

“Only one more year until you graduate,” Castiel said assuringly. “You’ll make it.”

Their palms clapped together, hands squeezing.

“I know I will,” Dean said. “I got you this time.” He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed them both together.

Zeppelin came closer, nibbling on the hem of the picnic blanket. Dean reached up and scooped her to his face, kissing her soft belly. She scrambled around by Dean’s ears, then crawled onto his chest, and remained there, relaxing, all warm and soft. Smiling, Dean shut his eyes.

Although this exact moment of contentment had never been part of his initial life vision, it was a moment that would shape every part of his life going forward. He wanted to chase moments like these. Quiet ones. Full of love. He felt the raw emotion that came with being out in the wilderness, as Castiel once said.

Dean’s smile was a sycamore smile.

And yeah, he couldn’t believe he’d become the guy who held hands with his dorky Professor boyfriend in a park with a rabbit on a picnic blanket, watching clouds – but dammit, he was _definitely_ that guy.

He loved being that guy.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

Castiel was a fan of Stevie Nicks. Dean pretended not to approve, but he did approve, and Castiel knew it. So Castiel made sure to blast _Edge of Seventeen_ as loud as he pleased on his record player (but not loud enough to upset the neighbours, naturally), and he would dress up in Dean’s flowy silk kimono, pluck Zeppelin from her run, and dance with her around the couch.

“ _Just-like-the white! winged! dooove, ssings a song, sounds like she's singing,_ ” Castiel crooned, swinging with Zeppelin up above him. “ _OOH, baby, ooh, say oooh..._ ”

“Cas, turn it down, they’re gonna be here in twenty minutes,” Dean called from the bathroom. “Put some clothes on!”

Castiel sang louder. “ _Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing—!_ ” He spun on the spot, robe twirling, bare feet squeaking on the polished hardwood, once carpet. “ _Ooh, baby, ooh, say oooh...!_ ” He brushed an arcing frond of the indoor palm with his shoulder, and it started to dance along.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Castiel paused mid-song to call, “Deean, doooor... _Ooh—_ ”

Dean sighed, leaving the bathroom in jeans and a grey t-shirt, drying his hair with a towel. “Gotta be the pizza,” he uttered, pausing for a moment to watch Castiel shimmy with their beloved rabbit on his naked chest. “Dude, you look hot.”

“I know,” Castiel smiled. “Get the door.”

Dean slapped his towel over his shoulder and paced to the front door, down the hallway. Castiel heard him scrape up cash from the tiger-shaped ceramic dish to pay for pizza, then opened up the door. He yelped and slammed the door again.

Castiel stopped dancing, finding that door-slam unusual. Dean never rejected pizza, not even if they forgot the toppings.

“Cas,” Dean called – then hissed, barely loud enough to be heard, “ _get out of my robe_.”

The door opened again, and Dean’s soft laugh and gentle speech made it to Castiel’s ears. Castiel relaxed, and got back to dancing. Clothes could wait.

Dean entered the room looking sheepish, one hand behind his neck. “Uuuuh. Cas.”

Castiel turned, and gasped, holding Zeppelin over his crotch. “Oh. Hello. Everyone’s here. Sam – oh, you look just like your pictures. Mary. Donna. Ah, Charlie, you too. Good evening to you all.”

Charlie tittered, eying Castiel’s boxers. “Nice bananas.”

Castiel looked down. “Oh. Thank you.”

“So,” Dean chirped, as he turned the music down, “my family showed up early.”

“Yes, I gathered.”

“Mom,” Dean gestured to Castiel with his thumb, turning to his mother. “This is, uh. Cas. Roommate. And. And. Um. My friend.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Mary said, her eyes wrinkling the same way Dean’s did when he was trying not to laugh.

Sam chuckled, taking off his windbreaker. “I see Zeppelin likes you.”

Zeppelin only peered up at Castiel with her cross-eyes and allowed him to use her as a privacy shield.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Maybe go change.”

Castiel nodded hastily, smiling and padding past the small crowd, taking Zeppelin with him.

He closed the bedroom door, and heard Dean’s family laugh when he was gone, but he smiled too, shedding Dean’s robe and pulling on jeans, plus one of Dean’s band shirts, thinking a white button-down would be too formal, given Dean was also wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

He returned to the family with Zeppelin over his shoulder, and shook hands with Mary, Sam, Donna, then Charlie, greeting them all in turn, letting them pet the rabbit like a lucky charm.

“The place looks amazing,” Donna said, putting a box of donuts down on the reclaimed wood table, a DIY project to which Dean had added black pipes for legs. “I can see Dean’s flashy, rustic touch. I’m guessin’ everythin’ else, that’s all you.” She smiled at Castiel, and he grinned back.

“Dean poured his _heart_ into making my life fit my vision,” Castiel said warmly, standing by Dean and touching his bicep. “I’m so up to date with things now, I’ve already finished my lesson plans for next semester, can you believe? So I have ample time to spend with family.” He rubbed Dean’s bicep.

Dean eased out of his touch, which made Castiel squint. Dean cleared his throat, chin down to her sternum. “Um. Yeah. S-So, uh. Fridge is there, there’s drinks. Bathroom’s down the hall. Dinner’s on its way. Ordered pizza, one of everything.”

There came a collective appreciative mumble, and the family gently dispersed, going to look around. Charlie went to admire the Rocky’s Bar signage, telling Donna about the day she and Dean rescued all the decor before the bar shut down.

Castiel remained by Dean, examining him. “Do they not know?” he asked, quietly, as Stevie Nicks went on jamming in the background and Mary sang along. “You introduced me as your ‘friend’...”

“You are my friend.”

“I’m other things besides that, Dean,” Castiel said softly.

Dean wet his lips, eyes darting to Sam, who sidled up to Donna to point out a framed photo of the bar that she and Charlie hadn’t noticed.

“I’m not ashamed,” Dean told Castiel. “And I don’t think they’d react like your folks did. I just never told ‘em, you know?”

“You could tell them now, if you want.”

Dean took a breath to argue, but then sucked on his tongue, and thought to himself. Castiel didn’t know what conclusion he came to, as he wandered off, washing his hands to prepare for dinner.

When the pizza arrived, Sam opened the door, Castiel paid, and they carried the boxes to the living room together, talking amicably about their favourite toppings. Everyone lined up to wash rabbit germs off their hands (Dean insisted), then Sam found the plates before Castiel could tell him where.

Donna pulled up a chair for Mary, and Charlie sat where Castiel usually sat, so Castiel sat on Dean’s other side, close enough for their knees to touch.

Dean took a breath, then swallowed, and said with a smile, “Everyone take what you want. We ordered extra.”

Castiel filled his plate, then Dean’s, as Dean was busy ripping excess cardboard off the boxes so he could see his mother past the forest of lids.

They tucked in, Castiel suddenly remembering how much he loved pizza, and wondering why on Earth he and Dean had had an argument earlier about whether or not they ought to cook dinner themselves. Castiel was only good at salad, slow-roasted dinners, and coffee, and Dean’s cooking leaned towards ‘filling and delicious; nutrition optional’. At least there was one of everything on pizza. Carbs, vegetables, fat, protein. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest variety of takeout food but it wasn’t the worst, either. (Yes, tomato sauce was a vegetable. On that, they agreed.)

The record on the player faded to its end, and in the new, unsettling silence, Castiel thought he’d go flip the disc.

“Does anyone want a drink?” he asked, hand on the back of his chair, ready to stand up. “We have soda, and beer, as well as chilled water in case anyone would prefer—”

“Cas and I are dating!” Dean exclaimed.

Everyone paused, halfway through a chew, mouths open, pizza slices in hand. All eyes had turned to Dean. Then they flicked to Castiel, who had also frozen, halfway to his feet.

“Well, not dating-dating,” Dean uttered, as his cheeks turned pink, “we kind of skipped that, we just sort of, went in with ‘relationship’. After bein’ friends, obviously— I mean, we’re great friends, and. And like—”

“Congratulations,” Sam said, grinning, as Castiel slid back to his seat. “I had no idea.”

“So, wait, you’re together?” Mary asked, putting down her pizza. “You’re a couple?”

“Get with the program, already, lady,” Charlie teased, nudging Mary’s side. “He just said so, didn’t he?” She winked at Dean. “Neeeever would’ve guessed,” she said, in a tone of voice that implied she’d already guessed.

Dean’s ears had gone red, head down as he wiped his lips with a napkin. Castiel reached to hold his hand under the table, and Dean squeezed it, palm sweating.

“Got any champagne lying around?” Donna asked Castiel.

“No, sorry,” Castiel said, before correcting, “Um, we don’t, but we have whiskey?”

“That’ll do,” Charlie said.

As Castiel got up to get the whiskey, he noticed Dean’s mother still looking shocked. He stopped before the kitchen, asking her, “Mary, are you all right?”

Mary blinked a few times, then looked at him. She tried to smile, but only looked confused. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice too high.

Dean noticed. “Mom...”

Mary looked at him, a serious weight in her gaze. Castiel hid behind a cupboard door for a moment, quickly returning with the drinks and glasses.

“I’m fine,” Mary said again, eyes down. “This isn’t a discussion for now.”

“Mom,” Dean said again, dropping his food and leaning closer. He reached to grasp Mary’s wrist. “Mom, look at me?”

Mary looked at him, and Castiel remained standing, afraid to move closer, in case something or someone exploded. The whole table was silent, watching, listening.

“I’m good,” Dean said quietly. “I’m happy.” He looked around for Castiel, and found him, met his eyes, and smiled. He looked back to Mary, showing her that smile. “He’s the one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, besides being born and raised by you.”

Mary smiled at that, and so did Castiel, glad being his mother gave her some automatic credit there.

Dean squeezed Mary’s hand now, then took it to hold it properly.

“It’s just,” Mary started. She glanced at everyone looking at her, then back to Dean. “Since when were you...?”

“Into guys?” Dean shrugged. “Um. Kind of the whole time I was into girls.”

Mary retracted her hand from Dean’s, maybe subconsciously. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” Dean said, his voice pitching lower, words slower, realising he was in a danger zone now. “I didn’t figure it out until I was, like, thirty. And even then, I barely had a relationship to tell you about.”

Castiel decided to diffuse the tension by sitting down, pouring whiskey and letting people take a glass, one by one.

Mary still looked sullen.

“Mom, is this a problem?” Dean asked, worried. He hadn’t expected this.

“No, no,” Mary said, clearly lying. She let the mask slip again, and admitted: “I just wish you’d been open with me, Dean. You always were before.”

Dean exhaled, stunned. “But— But I never told _any_ one. These guys, Sam, I never—? Mom, come on, I’m telling you _now_. All of you.” Forcefully, he snatched Castiel’s hand from the tabletop, almost making him spill the whiskey. “Me and Cas are a thing. And I really, _really_ like him, okay, so whether you like it or not, we’re gonna be a thing for the foreseeable future. But I want you to be okay with it. I— Please... Mom... I just...?”

With his free hand, he took a glass of whiskey, and gazed at it.

“A toast for the happy couple?” Charlie said, eyes on Mary. “May they live long and prosper.”

Sam grinned, and Donna clinked her glass to Charlie’s.

Dean managed a smirk, and his eyes darted to Castiel’s. Castiel’s smile only grew. He hesitated, then leaned to kiss Dean.

Dean shut his eyes, and kissed back.

Their lips slipped apart, eyes reflecting the same loving gaze.

When Castiel looked over next, Mary’s expression had melted, her eyes were misty, and she was smiling.

“Mom,” Dean smiled. “Are you crying?”

“Mm? Nn,” she muttered, sniffing, wiping under her mascaraed eyelashes, looking up at the ceiling. She sniffed again, then took a glass and raised it to Castiel’s, clinking them together. She drank – tipping her whiskey back all at once – and Castiel grinned, tapping his glass to Dean’s, and they drank together.

Just to check, Castiel smiled kindly at Mary.

He felt white winged doves sing their song inside him, because she smiled back, and meant it.

   
**⋒ .. ⋒  
>{ ◑ ✕ ◐ }<**  
 

**  
**  
  
_TWO YEARS LATER_  
  


“Order up! Two Happy Hippo specials, a mint-mocha frappe with whipped cream and caramel—” Dean barely finished reading out the order when the customer snatched it away and ran off, clearly in a hurry. “Alrighty then.”

He wiped his hands on his apron, then glanced over his shoulder. “Hey there, kiddo, where are you putting that _used_ blade?”

“It’s the same thing,” Alicia complained, halfway to putting it back in another blender. “I’m just making the same exact frappe again. That’s all people order now you’ve changed the recipe. I’m sick of making them. You made it taste too good.”

“Wash. Between. _Every_. Use.” Dean insisted, clicking his fingers and pointing as Alicia trailed her way back to the sink with a hose. “And tell your brother to get his sniffer out of the chocolate chips. I’m not paying you to steal the toppings.”

“Oh, yeah,” Max said, wiping chocolate from his chocolate skin. “Like we haven’t seen you eat cake batter when nobody’s looking.”

“Hey, I _own_ this joint, I’m allowed to do that,” Dean said, adjusting an overgrown snake plant on the coffee shop counter. “Oh, and that reminds me, I gotta grab the cake from the fridge before I clock out, and two of the Happy Hippo specials, with extra coffee. It’s Cas’— Uhhh, Professor Novak’s birthday. You know. Religious Studies guy. Yea high, wears a trenchcoat, sounds like the Cookie Monster with a cold?”

“I didn’t see him in class today,” Max said, lounging against the counter, checking his nails. “One of our tutors ended up flicking through slides the Prof emailed in. It’s weird, he never misses class. He’s never even late.”

Dean was stumped. “Yeah, that is weird. He’s supposed to be teaching until eight tonight.”

Max and Alicia both looked over at him.

Dean flustered. “I mean! Not that I know him. Or that I’m friends with him. Or that I know his schedule by heart. He just comes in for coffee a lot,” he added, muttering. “He’s a coffee guy.”

“So,” Alicia said, taking chapstick from her brother, applying it, then handing the stick back, “you’re saying you _didn’t_ change all the music in every single Hippocampus to _only_ Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac for a solid month, because Stevie’s the Professor’s fave.”

“‘Course not,” Dean breathed. “Nothing to do with me.”

“And the fact you both wear the exact same Juniper Gin spritzer as cologne isn’t a freaky coincidence at _aaall_ ,” Alicia added.

“Nope.”

“And,” Max added, carelessly gazing at the half-dozen customers at the tables, “that floppy black rabbit of yours just happens to have a twin just like it, who Professor Novak likes to take to class, on the same days you don’t have her with you.”

Dean shrugged. “Mm-hm.”

Alicia nudged Max’s side. “I mean, it’s not like we can argue with that. The only time people see you and _me_ together is when we’re working here. If we were _identical_ twins then people probably wouldn’t notice there’s two of us. There could be two rabbits.”

Dean folded his arms. “Exactly.”

“So where _is_ your rabbit now,” Max asked, “if she’s not here?”

Dean honestly didn’t know. “S-She’s with. A friend. Of mine.” His hand itched to grab his phone and text Cas.

“Would that friend happen to beeee, ohh, yea high,” Alicia stretched up a hand to hover an inch below Dean’s spiked-up hair, “wears a trenchcoat...?”

“Ravishing blue eyes,” Max added. “ _Ravishing_.”

Dean licked his lips. He was too worried about where Cas got to with Zeppelin to try and uphold their cover any more. And yet after two years it was second-nature. “Look,” he asserted, “guys. I know there’s a million rumours, I know the rabbit seems like an obvious giveaway. But there’s really nothing going on between me and— _Cas!_ Oh, thank God,” he breathed, as Castiel strode in through the glass doors with Zeppelin in his arms. “Dude, you all right? Where were you? Max said you weren’t in class.”

“I had to take her to the vet,” Castiel said, petting Zeppelin protectively. “She’s fine. Absolutely fine. She just ate a pen lid.”

Dean let out a breath. “You’re sure?”

“Completely. The vet did a scan and whatever’s in there is all chewed up, it’ll pass through easily. No metal, thank God.”

“You believe in God now?” Max raised his eyebrow. “Professor?”

“I...” Castiel eyed him, then locked his eyes back to Dean’s. “I have faith.”

Dean smirked, lowering his chin to his chest.

“You’re fooling nobody, Dean,” Alicia said, grinning. “Just kiss him already.”

Dean prepared to argue, but Cas looked so relieved about Zeppelin, and so wind-swept, and there was a sycamore samara on his shoulder, and his tie was backwards, and it was his _birthday_ – and he looked back at Dean, clearly understanding the jig was up. Everyone in the school knew Professor Novak was sweet on the head honcho of Hippocampus. They’d tried for so long not to seem unprofessional, but at this point, with the obvious support of the college students – well, these two, at least – it didn’t seem to matter what was professional and what wasn’t.

Dean leaned on the counter and beckoned Castiel down. Castiel came closer; Dean held onto his tie and pulled him in for a deep, slow kiss. Dean could feel Castiel’s smile against his lips, and he hummed when Castiel hummed.

Zeppelin scrambled out of Castiel’s arms and onto the checkout counter. Dean and Castiel broke their kiss to look at her, Dean making noises of complaint. She hopped twice, then stopped to sniff the cash register.

“Okay, not for nothing,” Alicia said, folding her arms, “but that is _way_ worse than a reused blade for the same kind of frappe. You’re gonna get us shut down. No offense, Professor.”

“Take the rabbit, Cas,” Dean smiled, as Castiel did so. “And happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, giving Dean another peck over the counter, Zeppelin drooping languidly from his hands. “I’ll see you later tonight, yes? Birthday dinner at our place?”

“You bet.” Dean winked. Castiel started to walk away – but now the secret was out, Dean couldn’t help himself: he called, “Love you!”

Castiel paused by the doors. Zeppelin looked back at Dean just as interestedly at Castiel did.

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel beamed. He stepped up to the door, ready to leave. “I’ll be waiting for you under the sycamores.”

He pulled open the door, and the breeze caught his hair, his coat, his tie; for a moment, he was the only thing moving in a still and silent world, and Dean got caught up in that swirl of fresh air, lit by the same sunbeam through the sloped glass roof. Blink, and Dean would’ve missed it. The moment was there and gone in a heartbeat, but would linger in his memory, everlasting.

Cas was beautiful.

 _Beautiful_ , the way friends were beautiful, when they intended to stick around forever.

“Sycamores?” Dean smiled his sycamore smile, and he nodded. “‘Course, Cas. I’ll be there.”

**{ the end } ******

**Author's Note:**

> **⋒ .. ⋒**   
>  **{ ◠ ✕ ◠ }**   
> 
> 
>   
>  
> 
> Zeppelin says nothing, but a great, excitable energy overtakes her, and she leaps directly onto the the keyboard of Castiel’s new laptop, clicking a button on-screen labelled ‘Kudos ♥’ – perhaps accidentally, but perhaps intentionally leaving a mark that will be appreciated by the author for the rest of time.
> 
> A mystical haze of gratitude emerges from an unknown source, blurring pink around Zeppelin’s edges, sparkling for a moment, then disappearing with a poof as she sneezes. She’s left with a peculiar feeling of contentment. Pleased by this, she hops off the desk, onto the chair, and into a pile of laundry on the floor, then back to Dean and Cas as they eat breakfast in the sun-drenched kitchen. Off she goes. Zepp’s fluffy butt bobs a moment out of sync with her floppy ears.
> 
> It’s true she says nothing. But even wordlessly... she says everything.
> 
> ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
>   
> ☞ [reblog start of fic](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/184795782895/sycamore-smile)  
> ☞ [reblog masterpost (summary and header art)](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/184783069890/deancastropefest-title-sycamore-smile-author)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Subscribe on my AO3 user page [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/) for email updates when I post new stuff~!! And don't forget to leave Imp some love for [their beautiful art](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/post/184742110280/sycamore-smile)!  
> Elmie x


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